Aww, Gene's still sore from what I did to him during our first big adventure, many years ago.

It was right before the great Valpolicella Incident of 1988. We'd driven about a thousand miles from New York to Hilton Head and we were exhausted. We'd gotten to sleep and were greeted by a morning of uncertain weather -- there was sunshine but clouds loomed, and the forecast said the clouds would ultimately take over.

The way I saw it, we only had a limited opportunity to enjoy the sunny beach -- and time was a-wasting.

So I went to the window near the bed where Gene was soundly sleeping. I threw open the drapes to reveal the hazy sun and yelled out, loudly:

"Wake up, motherfucker, you can sleep at home!"

You see, the way I viewed it, this was why we drove so far.

I'll never forget the look of incomprehension on a Alane's face when she learned, later that day, that I'd thrown Gene out of bed, that early, and in that way.

"Look, lady -- we came here to seize the day," was my overly defensive reply. (Those were the days that I thought Alane greatly disliked me -- and it wasn't until we were married that I was able to confirm that suspicion.)

But the important thing to remember is that Gene did indeed get out of bed quite early that morning. Disheveled and confused, he trudged out to the beach and rode his bicycle into the sea.

Did I feel bad? No... We did get a few hours of sunshine.

Does Gene hold a grudge? Well... He did wake up pretty early on Sunday. And when he realized that I was already awake and suffering... he did look a little disappointed.